


pickles

by sodelicate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pickles - Freeform, bokuto loves pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 01:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodelicate/pseuds/sodelicate
Summary: "For the three months he's been dating Bokuto, he’s been able to avoid eating the dreaded vegetable.That is, until Bokuto brings the most gigantic mason jar filled with nothing but pickles to practice one day."Bokutoreallylikes pickles. Akaashi really... does not. But Akaashi is also whipped for Bokuto, and so this happened.





	pickles

**Author's Note:**

> this one is based on this thing going on at [honestlyhaikyuutrash's tumblr](https://honestlyhaikyuutrash.tumblr.com/), where Bokuto really loves pickles and is often edited holding pickles in manga and anime screencaps. it's wonderful and you should definitely check it out on her blog.
> 
> the original tumblr post is [here.](https://hqissodelicate.tumblr.com/post/181698491522/bokuto-x-pickle)

Bokuto loves pickles and has done so ever since he was fresh out of the womb (or, at least he made it sound like that). It’s just one of the many things Akaashi has learned about his boyfriend. Bokuto will fight to the death to defend the vegetable’s honour.

Akaashi… definitely doesn't mirror the sentiment, to say the least. If he were someone like Hinata, he would describe pickles as ‘ugh!’ and ‘bleh!’ He's never been taken by the acridly sour taste of pickles—they make his taste buds mourn their taste buds. But since he's dating Bokuto, it’s just something he’s had to learn to get used to. Whenever Bokuto offers his pickles to Akaashi like a sacred offering, Akaashi would somehow dance his way around the subject without outright rejecting him—he can't stand to actually say no to Bokuto—and Bokuto would be easily distracted by the change of topic. For the three months he's been dating Bokuto, he’s been able to avoid eating the dreaded vegetable.

That is, until Bokuto brings the most gigantic mason jar filled with nothing but pickles to practice one day.

The jar is so huge Akaashi feels offended. He had no idea they even made jars this large. It’s taller than the length from the tip of Akaashi’s middle finger to the heel of his palm, and it’s so girthy he figures he'd barely be able to fit his palm around it—and he has fairly big hands, thanks to his long fingers.

“What the actual fuck is that?” Konoha demands. His expression looks torn between horrified, nauseated and anguished. Akaashi feels an instant kinship with his senpai.

“The best thing in the world!” Bokuto beams, brandishing the jar at them like a sword.

“Hate to burst your bubble, but that ain’t it, chief,” Komi says. “That’s  _nasty_.”

“Yeah, Saru’s right,” Konoha chimes in, folding his arms over his chest, while Washio nods somberly behind him. “Who the hell’s gonna eat so many pickles? Surely even you can't eat that many pickles.”

Bokuto blinks, counts on his fingers, then replies, “Yeah, I totally can! I've eaten more than this in one sitting before!”

“Oh good grief,” Shirofuku mutters. It’s telling that even a food lover like her is appalled by the idea of one person eating so many pickles at one go.

“Um, why bring so many pickles, and to practice too, Bokuto-san?” Suzumeda asks in a manner that suggests she's afraid of the answer.

“As a treat for everyone!” Bokuto booms. “Everyone’s been working so hard for the upcoming tournament, so I thought the good captain thing to do would be to treat everyone.”

“With… pickles,” Konoha enunciates skeptically.

“Yeah, no,” Sarukui adds, eyeing the offensively gigantic mason jar like it’s a venomous snake. “Appreciate the thought, Bo, but just—no. Pickles are just—no.”

“Aww, come on, guys!” Bokuto whines. “You would  _really_  be missing out on something incredible!”

“My childhood memories of being force-fed pickles suggest otherwise,” Konoha retorts.

“I'm sorry, Bokuto-san, but I'm afraid pickles aren't really my thing either,” Anahori says, sounding less apologetic and more apprehensive.

“Same here,” Shirofuku pipes up. “I love food, but pickles and I just don't get along.”

Bokuto sends Akaashi a pleading look. Feeling distinctly like a deer caught in full-on headlights, all Akaashi can do is stare back at Bokuto. On one hand, Bokuto does have good wholesome intentions with the pickles. But on the other, Akaashi and everyone else  _really don't like pickles_. He can't think of a nice way to say it—thanks to growing up with a mother whose tongue is blunter than a stubby pencil—so he just stares wordlessly back at Bokuto.

Bokuto’s expression crumbles. His lower lip trembles and he dramatically flings one arm behind him and buries his face in the other. “And after all the effort I went through to make sure they wouldn't go bad during the day. Fine, don't eat the pickles! I have lousy taste in food anyway! I'm sorry for thinking this was a good treat for you guys.”

Before anyone can say anything, Bokuto all but slams the jar on a nearby table—somehow not cracking either object—and dives under the table, his favourite hiding spot when he gets into a slump. He draws his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms.

Everyone else exchanges awkward looks. They glance at the captain under the table, at the jar of pickles on the table, then at each other, as if asking someone to do something about this situation. Akaashi is glad that Yamiji-sensei is running late today, or they would've gotten into trouble for fooling around with pickles before practice, even if it wasn't their idea.

“C’mon, Bokuto,” Konoha says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not  _that_ big of a deal. We just don't like pickles, so what? The world isn't ending.”

An indignant “Hmph!” rings out from underneath the table.

“If you look at it this way, our not eating the pickles means more for you to enjoy, right?” Shirofuku cajoles, sounding rather much like a mother trying to convince her toddler to quit sulking.

“But I wanna share them with everyone!” Bokuto whines.

“Yeah, hate to break it to you, but we don't want any,” Komi points out. “Ooh, but if you insist on treating us I wouldn't mind some deep fried breaded prawns.”

Another whine from under the table.

“Who knew he would go into dejected mode over  _pickles_?” Konoha grumbles.

“I heard that!”

“Guys,” Suzumeda says, peering out of the window, “that's Coach’s car right there. He's parking.”

 _Crap, we have to get him out of his dejected mode soon,_  Akaashi realises. Otherwise, they'd get into huge trouble with the coach.

Unfortunately, he knows what to do. It’s the only way. But he doesn't want to do it. He doesn't want to be the one to do it. Yet looking around, it’s painfully obvious no one else is going to do anything.

Looks like he has to take one for the team, then.

Trying not to grimace, he treads over to the table, opens the jar and plucks a pickle out. It’s— _gross_. It’s slimy and cold and all-round disgusting. He hates this. But, for better or for worse, he loves the boy under the table more than he hates pickles. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shoves the pickle into his mouth and tries his best not to gag at the burst of horrible flavours across his tongue. His taste buds feel like they're about to just shrivel up and die. And the texture—he shudders at the feeling. But he forces himself to chew and swallow it.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s voice floats from somewhere near Akaashi’s knees. (They use family names when they're with the team and given names when alone.) “You… you actually ate it?”

“Yes, I did, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. He hopes he doesn't sound as revolted as he feels.

There's a complete 180-degree flip in Bokuto’s tone. “Really? Did you like it?”

“I… I wouldn't die eating it, I suppose.”

“Great!” In the blink of an eye, Bokuto springs out from under the table to engulf Akaashi in a bear hug. “You gotta come over for dinner later, then! My mom’s frying pickles tonight.”

Akaashi feels faint. “Frying… pickles. Got it.”

“Alright!” Bokuto hoots, pumping a fist in the air. “Time to warm up, guys! And after practice, you guys will each have three pickles. Plenty to go around!”

“I—” Konoha begins, but falters when Akaashi sends him a glare.

_I ate one, so don't tell me YOU can't._

“Yes, Captain,” the team weakly choruses.

“You are totally whipped for him,” Konoha hisses to Akaashi.

Akaashi shrugs. He’ll give Konoha that. “That is a way of putting it, I suppose.”

But the grin on Bokuto’s face—brighter than the stars and larger than life—is worth it all. Bokuto is worth all the horrible pickles, and Akaashi would willingly suffer through the whole mason jar of them if it means seeing Bokuto smile like that.

God, Konoha is right. Akaashi  _really_ is whipped for Bokuto.

 

* * *

 

**Bonus:**

Akaashi has heard it time and again.

_“High school sweethearts are fun and cute, but you guys will never last.”_

_“Hardly anyone marries the person they dated in high school.”_

_“It’s just a phase.”_

But against all odds, Bokuto and Akaashi have made it. Seven years later, and here they are now, older, wiser and with stable jobs they enjoy: Bokuto as a first-string spiker on the national team and Akaashi as a sports journalist. Their different jobs initially caused some problems in scheduling dates and finding time to spend together—Akaashi is inclined to burn the midnight oil when working on new pieces, while tournament time means a Bokuto who's too exhausted to do much other than crash on the couch after training or games—but they have adapted. They always have. They wouldn't have lasted seven years without learning to adapt to one another.

And now, Akaashi believes would be the perfect time to… ah, advance their relationship, so to speak.

Today is a good day, as for the first time in two weeks the both of them are home early. Akaashi watches as Bokuto bustles around the house, his hair sopping wet and his body without a shirt on. He feels as though his nerves are being twisted up and tightened like a corkscrew is having its merry way with them, his heart ramming against his chest like it’s desperate for a way out. But why? This shouldn't be so difficult; he's confident that he and Bokuto want each other. This shouldn't be hard at all.

_What if he says no? What if it’s too soon?_

_Don't be stupid, Keiji, seven years is a very long time to be together with someone._

_But what if he doesn't want to?_

_What if—_

“Keijiii!”

Akaashi’s head immediately snaps up. “What may I do for you, Koutarou?”

“You had that expression on!” Bokuto exclaims, pointing at Akaashi in an accusatory fashion. “You were overthinking again, weren't you?”

Akaashi’s cheeks heat up, embarrassed that he got caught so easily. “Ah, in a sense of the word, yes.”

“What were you thinking about, and what can I do to help you stop worrying?”

He really is too sweet for Akaashi. Akaashi has to wonder why someone as kind and loving as Bokuto has stayed with him for the past seven years, through all the tribulations of adolescence, the difficulties of long-distance communication at times, and work schedules that hardly agree to match up.

Akaashi bites his lip, then pats the spot on their couch next to him. He shifts the owl-shaped cushion aside to make space for his boyfriend. “There is something I believe we should… discuss.” The words feel like sawdust falling from his parched throat.

Bokuto flinches. “I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm sorry!”

“It’s not—you didn't do anything wrong. Promise. Please sit with me.”

“Um, okay…” Bokuto eyes the couch with trepidation as he settles himself next to Akaashi. “What's up?”

Akaashi folds his hands primly on his lap, in an attempt to hide how badly they must be trembling, as he says, “I was thinking about… us. Lately. I've been thinking about us lately. You are a wonderful person, Koutarou, a true star. And I've felt nothing but love for you—love that sometimes feels like it could overwhelm me. And—well, we’re in a pretty good and stable part of our lives and relationship, so I was thinking…” You could collect the sweat gathering on Akaashi’s palms in a bucket and there would still be plenty left on his hands. “If—if you'd like to—I mean, if you don't, it’s okay. I just—I wanted to ask—”

“Yes!”

Akaashi blinks once, twice, thrice. “Yes…?”

“Well, yeah!” Bokuto beams. “I wanna marry you, Keiji! I actually was planning on asking you too, but looks like you beat me to the punch.”

“You—w-wait,” Akaashi stammers, feeling like someone stole the ground from under his feet. He had a plan. He had a speech prepared, he had other props ready, yet—this. Bokuto’s always throwing him for a loop. He has been for the past seven years, so Akaashi should really have gotten used to it by now. “You want—‘yes’?”

Something in Bokuto’s expression falters. His lower lip trembles ever so slightly. “Oh, was… was that not what you were—shit, did I misunderstand? I'm so sorry, Keiji, I shouldn't have presumed.”

“No, you're… you're right. I wanted to formally ask you to marry me, but looks like you figured me out too easily.”

Bokuto tilts his head, looking very much like a curious owl. “‘Formally’. Did you have something planned? Like a ritual sort of thing?”

Akaashi lets out a tiny chuckle. “Well, in a sense of the word. Hold on, please.” He swings his trembling legs off the couch, padding over to the kitchen and pulling out a jar wrapped in an owl-patterned towel from the fridge. He holds it gingerly, almost reverently, in his arms as he returns to the lounge where Bokuto is waiting for him with wide and curious eyes.

“I know you’ve already given me your answer, but I'd like to ask again. Bokuto Koutarou, the star of my life—” Akaashi gets down on one knee in front of Bokuto and removes the towel from around the jar, revealing its contents: pickles. Bokuto’s favourite green vegetable that only he likes but Akaashi has learned to somewhat tolerate. “—will you marry me?”

Bokuto’s entire face lights up like the night sky after a bunch of fireworks have gone off, and it’s as captivating as one too. His grin threatens to stretch itself off his face as he takes the jar and puts it aside so he can pull Akaashi closer to him on the couch. “Yes, yes, god  _yes_. I want to marry you, Keiji. You're so beautiful and amazing and cute, and I really freaking love you.  _Yes_.”

An overwhelming flood of emotion pricks Akaashi’s eyes. Even though he already knew Bokuto’s answer, hearing it again does funny things to his heart, like make it feel as though it’s hurtling through the sky at a million miles an hour. “Thank... thank you, Koutarou. I was so nervous, and I just—thank you.”

“Was that what you were overthinking about just now?”

Akaashi nods, feeling oddly meek all of a sudden.

“Aww, you didn't have to be!” Bokuto chirps, running a large hand down Akaashi’s back before hooking it on his waist. “You know I would’ve said yes. I can't ever say no to you, Keiji.”

Bokuto’s skin begins to feel damp under his cheek, Akaashi notes. He thinks he should say something, something to affirm his love and devotion to Bokuto just like Bokuto did for him, but he doesn't trust his voice to speak for him. Not right now, when it feels like all sorts of emotions are hitting him from left, right and center.

Bokuto seems to get this, though. He hums a love song quietly while he tangles his fingers in Akaashi’s messy hair. Akaashi snuggles closer to his chest, seeking his warmth and stability. This feels… strangely lowkey. Akaashi thought the aftermath of his proposal to Bokuto (if it went well) would be full of fanfare and heat and passion.

But this domesticity and simplicity of this moment suspended in time with his beloved—it’s just as charming.

Until Bokuto speaks again.

“Hey hey hey, do you think we can cuddle and eat the pickles at the same time? You should have the bigger portion since you went through all the trouble of buying it for the proposal!”

Oh dear. This is  _definitely_ not the post-proposal fanfare Akaashi was expecting. He is still… acclimatising his taste buds to the horror that is Bokuto’s favourite vegetable.

“You’ll eat them, right?” Bokuto asks, his eyes warm and inviting, even if the… food in the jar isn't.

Ugh, Konoha-san was right. Akaashi really is whipped for Bokuto.

“Yes, of course I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> i totally wasn't expecting the bonus part either. i just suddenly had an idea like, "hey, Akaashi should totally propose to Bokuto with pickles..." and then this happened. 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> chat with me and/or send me requests on tumblr [here.](https://hqissodelicate.tumblr.com/)


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